


As You Wish

by ofIceandFire1897



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: As you wish, Episode Related, F/M, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Arya Stark, POV Gendry, Romance, Sassy Arya Stark, Sweet, Their Love Is So, bless him, he tries, that girl is not afraid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofIceandFire1897/pseuds/ofIceandFire1897
Summary: “What about you?” They had asked. “Isn’t there someplace you’d rather be on your last night on this gods-forsaken land?”Grey eyes—quick and fierce—flashed across Gendry’s mind. “Aye,” He told them. “But what I want is impossible.”--*Spoilers for episode 8x02!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the premise of this awhile ago, but after Sunday's episode, I am a mess of emotions and just had to finish this.
> 
> ALL IM SAYING IS THESE TWO BETTER NOT DIE
> 
> All Rights Reserved to G.R.R.M. and HBO.

They would come for them by morning. That’s what Tormund said. Death was coming, and Winterfell did not have nearly enough weapons.

Gendry wiped the dampness from his brow. He was the only one left in the forge—having sent the other lads to enjoy the last few hours of what could possibly be their last.

“What about you?” They had asked. “Isn’t there someplace you’d rather be on your last night on this gods-forsaken land?”

Grey eyes—quick and fierce—flashed across Gendry’s mind. “Aye,” He told them. “But what I want is impossible.”

As they left, one man—a tall brut with a greying beard put a hand on Gendry’s shoulder. “Dead men are walking, lad. Nothing’s impossible.”

Once they had all left, and the forge was quiet save for the crackling of burning embers, Gendry picked up his anvil and went back to work.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it. But he couldn’t seem to stop. If he did, he’d think about her. And that would be bad. Very bad. Because then he’d probably do something stupid—like go looking for her.

That’s when the air shifted. A rush of cold air sent the fires dimming, only for the door to shut a moment later.

Gendry knew who it was without even turning around. She had always walked without sound, even now.

“Doesn’t milady have anything better to do than bother a poor smith on the eve of battle?” The words held no bite as Gendry shaped a point into a broadsword.

“Did you know I’ve never been kissed.”

The blacksmith nearly smashed his thumb against the steel he was hammering. _Well that was unexpected._

Setting down his anvil, Gendry quickly composed himself, and turned to eye the girl before him suspiciously.

“Is this a trap?” The question left his mouth before he could stop it.

She looked right at him, a blush spreading high on her cheeks. “I’ve killed more men than I can count,” she tilted her head, as if pondering her words for a moment. “No, scratch that—I remember every life I’ve taken.”

Gendry frowned, unsure where she was going with this. “And your point is…”

Arya huffed, rolling her eyes. “My point is, stupid, that there is a very high probability that I could die tomorrow and I’ll never know what a kiss feels like.”

His chest tightened, and Gendry thinks very carefully about his next words.

“You’re not going to die, Arya,” He swallowed away the tightness, turning back to his worktable. The mere thought of her going into battle—the little thing that she was—scared him witless. “You’ll survive, and then you can kiss whomever you’d like.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then, “I don’t want just anyone to kiss me, Gendry.”

The way she said his name gave him pause. “No? Did you have someone in mind?”

Another moment hung silently in the sweltering air. He knew she was waiting for him to look at her again, but he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

“Actually, I do.” Came her quiet reply.

Jealousy that he had no business feeling, burned hot and sharp through Gendry’s chest. “Well then I suggest you go and talk to him about it.” He brought his hammer down with more force than was probably necessary.

“I am talking to him about it,” Arya said with a tinge of frustration in her tone. “He’s just being too much of a stubborn bull to realize it.”

Gendry set the anvil down again and gripped the edge of the table. “Arya,” he spoke slowly. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” Gendry felt her move closer. He could feel the winter air coming off her in icy waves. “Like I want you to be the one to kiss me?”

“Yes,” The blacksmith hung his head between his shoulders, pushing against the iron table. “Exactly.”

“Why not?”

Gendry breathed harshly through his nose and turned around. “I swear you’d test the patience of the gods.” He crossed his arms, as if it would somehow protect him, and said the words he’d been telling himself for years. “You are a lady and I’m a blacksmith. We are on different levels.” 

“Don’t be stup—” 

He shot her a glare. “I swear if you call me that one more time I’m going to throw you outside. I’m being serious here, Arya.”

“So am I!” She looked wild—like the winter raging outside. But Gods help him she was beautiful. “We are in the middle of a bloody war! Do you think I, let alone anyone else, cares about your status?”

Arya put her hands on her hips. “Or maybe you just don’t want to kiss me.” Though her tone was taunting, Gendry could see hesitation behind her hard stare. “That’s fine. Maybe I could get Podrick to oblige. I hear he’s popular with the ladies.”

Then she’s turning towards the door, and before he could rationalize what he was doing, Gendry grabbed her wrist.

Arya let out a startled yelp at the sudden movement. Gendry didn’t give himself time to think before he’d grabbed her waist, and tugged her to him.

They were both breathing hard. Arya’s chest brushed against his as it rose and fell. He scanned her face, searching for any sign she had changed her mind. But he couldn’t find any. Her pale skin was flushed and her winter eyes stared unnervingly into his. Gendry’s gaze fell to her mouth as she brushed her tongue out to wet her lips. 

It was the ruin of the blacksmith’s self-control. Bringing a soot-covered hand up to cup her cheek, Gendry bent down to claim her mouth with his.

Her mouth was hesitant at first, unsure. Gendry’s tongue touched the crease where her lips met, silently asking for entrance. Arya obliged, opening her mouth in a gasp.

She tasted like the wine from dinner, but underneath its bitter sweetness was all Arya—wild, like the sweet snow after a blizzard.

One of her small hands fisted into the fabric of his tunic while the other went to his shortly cropped hair. It took everything in Gendry to keep a groan from escaping. He wrapped an arm around her back, struggling to get closer.

When they both broke for air, Gendry watched as varying emotions flickered across her face: desire, uncertainty, awe.

With a brush of her nose, Arya was kissing him again—bolder than before. As their kisses deepened, Gendry lifted her up onto the work table behind them. And Arya, taking full advantage of their new position, wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling his flush against hers.

At the contact, Gendry groaned, unable to keep it in. Dragging his lips from hers, he latched onto her throat. His tongue darted out to taste the skin there, and he felt her sharp gasp more than he heard it.

Gendry smiled against her neck as she tightened her hold on him. The world around them had muffled out, and all there was, was her. Arya. The girl he had tried with all his strength to keep at arms-length.

Well, that had all been shot seven hells and back now. There was no way he could go back from this moment.

The tentative rocking of Arya’s hips against his own, brought Gendry back to the surface. He tightened his hands on her waist, forcing himself to break away.

“Arya,” Her name sounded like a plea on his swollen lips. “We need to stop.”

“Why?” She sounded breathless. “We’re just kissing.

He lowered his forehead to rest upon her chest. He could hear the pulsing of her heart. “Because if I don’t stop now, then something entirely more than kissing will happen.”

Arya grasped the back of his neck, lifting his face up to meet her eyes. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

He pulled away from her then, and tried to put some distance between them. Her legs, however, were still firmly holding him against her.

“Yes, it would be,” His voice sounded rough in the quiet of the forge. “You’re a lady Arya, and don’t try to say otherwise. You know it as well as I do.”

The hold she had on him slackened a bit at his words. She had turned her gaze away from him, staring off into the dying flames.

Gendry narrowed his eyes. “Are you even listening to me?”

Arya casted him a look of her own. “Yes,” she said. “I’m just trying to process so much stupid at once.”

_Gods help him._

“I’m serious.” Gendry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t just take you on my work table!”

As if to taunt him, Arya tightened her legs around his waist again, shifting closer. “And why couldn’t you?”

“Because you’re the lady of Winterfell!” The words flew out of his mouth in one great breath. “And one day you’ll leave to marry and produce heirs for some lord. You may not like it, I may not like it, but it’s the truth of the matter.” He paused, regaining his control. 

And then very quietly admitted his truth. “I will not ruin you.”

At that, Arya scoffed, pushing him away with a forceful shove. “The day Jon tries to marry me off to some old, fat, stuffy lord, is the day all the snow melts in Winterfell. He would never do that to me.”

Cold hands caught his chin, bringing his eyes to hers. “And you wouldn’t ruin me Gendry,” A fierceness shone in her eye. “You could never do that.”

Gendry wanted to believe her. He desperately did, but he had grown up with the rules drilled into his skull like a mantra: noble and common folk did not mix. He knew that times were changing, and even if he was allowed to be with Arya, this was not how he wanted to do it. She deserved better than some quick rut in his forge.

He lifted a hand to run over her hair, catching the tips of it between his fingers. “Can’t we just go join the others in food and drink and argue about this later?”

It was a plea. They both knew it.

Arya frowned. “And when would that be? When we are lying dead with only the snow to cover us?”

Gendry sighed. He should’ve known she wouldn’t give up so easily. It was, after all, why he loved her. 

“Are you so convinced we will lose?” he asked her in a whisper. “You will not die, Arya.”

She shook her head. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“I do,” Gendry smiled sadly, “You’re too stubborn to let something like death get in your way.”

“Then can I just stay here with you until the horn blares? Just to sleep.” She looked vulnerable—suddenly younger than he’d ever seen her. It was gone in an instant though, and she managed a small smile of her own. “I promise I won’t try to take advantage of your honor.”

Gendry fought back a scoff. “I’m the one trying to protect your honor, milady.” 

“Then we won’t have anything to worry about, now will we?” Arya asked sweetly.

Then she unwound her legs from around his waist and hopped down off the table. Her hand wrapped around his larger, rougher one, and gave it a surprisingly gentle tug.

“Come on Gendry. Let’s go to bed.”

The last of the blacksmith’s resolve crumbled as she led him to his rooms.

“As you wish, milady."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback on the first chapter!
> 
> Second chapter as requested xx

As Gendry lit the small fireplace in the corner of the room, Arya took the time to examine the blacksmith’s living quarters. His rooms were small. There was a bed pushed up against the stone wall and a small table beneath a poorly cut out window. It was nice though, Arya thought—comforting.

But still, she found herself saying, “We should have gone to my rooms.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Arya practically felt his exasperation from across the room. A wicked grin lit her face as she stared at his muscled back. It was likely the end of the world and she felt bold. “My bed is bigger.”

“You’re probably right.” Gendry huffed out a low chuckle. It sent Arya’s insides warming. 

She watched as his cheeks puffed out to blow air into the growing flames. The glow of the embers gave his skin a ruddy coloring, and she let her eyes travel downwards to his hands. They were blackened from the day’s works, but she could care less. Arya still felt the intense heat of them imprinted into her waist. 

Arya scolded herself, cheeks flaming. Gods she was worse than the silly maids she’d seen flittering past the windows of the forge on more than one occasion. She wasn’t used to this new part of her—the part that burned with wildfire at just the mere thought of the man before her. 

Because that’s what he was—a man. 

And she—she was a woman now.

They were far from the children they had been so many years ago.

“I’m afraid you’d be more comfortable in your own bed tonight, milady.”

Gendry’s soft timbre broke Arya out of her thoughts. She hadn’t realized she had been staring at his bed and looked up at him. He wore an expression she could not read. 

He looked…guarded almost. 

With a silent breath, Arya pushed herself away from the door. She could feel Gendry’s gaze burn into her as she sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked loudly into the quiet room.  

Arya met his stare. “I don’t want my own bed tonight.” She told him simply. “I want yours.”

Then to prove her point, she kicked off her boots and removed her scabbard, sending them to the ground with a thump. She quirked a brow at the blacksmith, daring him to say something.

The corners of Gendry’s mouth twitched upwards. “Alright.” Was all he said as he went about what Arya could only guess was his nightly routine. 

Really, she had expected more of a fight.

A smart remark was on the tip of her tongue as she watched him go about checking the bolts on the window shutters and peeking into the shop one last time. But she held it back at the jolt that shot through her.

It all seemed so…so domestic.

It hit her then—how badly she wanted it. A life without war. Without death.

But that wasn’t her. It wasn’t them. After all, they had found each other _in_ war and death. And now, after what seemed like a lifetime, they reunited amidst it all again.

Perhaps it would be their ending too.

Arya shook her head. No, she would not think about the battle—not yet.

To distract her darkening thoughts, Arya untied her leathers, dropping them next to her boots and weapons. After a moment of hesitation, she hastily peeled off her trousers before she lost her nerve. She never slept in them, so why should now be any different.

However, the boldness of before had begun to dwindle. Arya felt strangely bare, sitting there on Gendry’s bed in only a green tunic, even if it did fall to her knees.

Gendry came back to the room then, softly shutting the door behind him. He looked around, catching her eye for the briefest of moments before walking over to the dresser that held a water pitcher.

Arya watched in silence—as she did most things these days. He had beautiful skin, darker than she was by a few shades. As he tried to scrub the soot from his flesh, Arya let her eyes travel over him freely—from the stretch of his neck, down to the lines of his chest, to the dark hair dusting a trail that disappeared into his trousers. Arya found herself wishing she could follow its path.

Gendry, who had brought a cloth up to his face, caught her staring. And Arya, in a grasp for something to do, quickly slipped in between the crisp sheets.

“You’ve even claimed my side of the bed.” Gendry chuckled lightly, moving near the bed.

“It’s my side now,” Arya smirked, settling down onto the pillow. It smelled like him—like iron and warmth—and she let out a content sigh.

Gendry paused, watching her. There was a gentle smile forming on his mouth.

Gods he was looking at her like he’d never seen her before.

“Are you just to stand there all night, or are you going to get in?” Arya patted the furs.

With a sigh, Gendry settled beneath the warm furs. He turned onto his side, facing her. Arya mimicked the action until they both laid facing each other. In the dim light made by the fire, Arya drank in the sight of him so close to her. Tentatively, she reached out a hand, tracing his strong brow, the arch of his nose.

Gendry kept his eyes open as she drew invisible lines onto his face. As her fingers reached the edge of his lips, he caught her wrist, his work-worn hand encircling around the delicate bone gently.

Arya waited for him to tell her they should stop, but found that moment did not come. Instead, he brought her wrist to his lips, pressing a light kiss on the tender flesh there.

Arya swallowed thickly, her heart threatening to jump from her chest. It was like the rush of adrenaline she got when she had Needle within her grasp, yet without the killing. This was life, not death.

For once, in a very long while, Arya felt as though she were living—not surviving.

And she wanted more. Gods did she want more. With the man lying next to her. With Jon and Bran and Sansa. She wanted to live.

A stubborn tear leaked from the corner of Arya’s eye, trailing hotly down her cheek. Gendry watched its decent, his hand still around hers.

Arya wondered if he felt it too—that urge to live. She could see the emotion raging, thrashing behind his deep blue orbs, and thought perhaps he could.

“I’m scared.” The confession was barely a whisper into the quiet night for fear if she spoke it too loudly she might break.

Gendry tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let a shaky breath settle in the space between them. “So am I.”

The quiet laugh that escaped Arya’s lips sounded more like a sob.

“My father used to say that was the only time a man could be brave—when he was afraid,” Arya explained softly.

She could hear his steady voice as she said the words.

“All those years ago, when your father came to the forge in Kings Landing—I think he knew who I was.” Gendry paused, turning onto his back to look up at the ceiling.“That’s why the Red Woman wanted me.”

Arya sat up with a frown. “What are you going on about?”

Gendry’s blue stare found hers. “I’m Robert Baratheon’s bastard. That’s why your father came to see me. That’s why I was sent away.”

Arya stared at the blacksmith in shock. It made sense—the blue eyes, the black hair, why the gold cloaks looked high and low for him. She scolded herself for not putting it together before.

But there was something else that did not make sense to Arya.

“What did the Red Woman want with you?”

“She wanted my blood—some kind of spell.” Gendry grimaced, no doubt remembering the event.“I did not know about my heritage until she told me. She tied me up, stripped me down, put leeches all over me.”

Arya clenched her fists into the furs. The Red Woman was still on her list.

“Was that your first time?” The words tumbled out before she had the sense to stop them.

Gendry scooted up until he was leaning against the stone wall. He looked confused. “Uh, yeah. I’ve never had leeches put all over my— “

“Your first time with a woman.” Arya clarified quickly.

“What?” Gendry shifted uncomfortably beneath the furs. “I—I didn’t—I wasn’t _with_ her.”

Curiosity overtook any embarrassment Arya had before.“Were you with other girls before that—in Kings Landing? Or after?”

She watched an array of emotions cross Gendry’s features, his mouth opening, only to snap shut again as he struggled for words.

“You don’t remember?”

Gendry ran a hand over his cropped hair. “Yes, I was.”

She detangled herself from the blankets, sitting crisscross on the mattress. “One? Two?” She probed. “Twenty?”

The tips of his ears had gone red, and he rolled his eyes. “I didn’t keep count.”

Arya raised a brow. “Yes, you did.”

He sighed, clearly exasperated at her interrogation. “Three.”

Swallowing, Arya stared down at her hands, snuffing up the courage for the words that leave her mouth next.

“We’re probably going to die soon.” She whispered, raising her gaze back to his. “And I want to know what it’s like before that happens.”

Gendry sucked in a sharp breath as he caught her meaning.

“Arya— “

She doesn’t give him time to stop them this time. Leaning onto her knees, Arya reached out to grasp the back of his neck, bringing his mouth to hers.

Her lips were inexperienced, but as she leaned back, Gendry recaptured them, bringing his hands to her waist. He was warm, his hands scorching wherever they touched her. Arya was like a moth to a flame—she needed to get closer, uncaring if she got burned.

Arya’s hands found their way beneath the loose shirt Gendry wore. A low hum reverberated through his mouth as she traced her fingers along his skin.

As they broke up for air, Arya pulled at the offending shirt with frantic hands. Gendry obliged, pulling the fabric off in one smooth motion.

They were both breathing heavily. Arya leaned back on her heels, peeling off her own tunic.

She paused then, as the night air hit her bare skin. She fought the urge to cover herself as Gendry took her in. His eyes traveled over her briefly but zeroed in on the scars etched along her ribs, her stomach.

He made to reach for her—for the scars—but Arya pushed him back with a forceful shove.

“I’m not the red woman,” Her voice hinted a warning. “Take your own bloody pants off.”

With one last look to the puckered flesh at her sides, Gendry did as he was told. She took that time to discard her own trousers.

As their clothes landed in a pile on the floor, Arya moved over him, carefully placing her knees on either side of his hips.

They both sighed as flesh met flash, and for a moment they could only stare at one another.

There was something in his wide blue stare. It was tender in the same way her father used to look at her mother. But it was also as fierce as the ocean tides, and it sent a jolt of fear licking down her spine.

Arya let herself drink in that look of love, hoping that it would be enough. Because she would not say the words that wanted to slip off her tongue. It would break her in the end if she did. The chances of their survival were too slim.

Gendry must’ve seen the panic reflected on her face. He stroked a calloused hand along her cheek, trailing a path until she could feel the heat of his palm over her beating heart.

“Don’t think about it, Arya,” He whispered hoarsely. “Live in this moment right here. Just you and me.”

Arya did not answer him. Instead, she leaned forward to capture his mouth. She could taste the salty truths of unsaid words and wondered whose tears it belonged to.

Though, for once in her life, Arya did as she was told.

She memorized the feel of his hands as they held her. The taste of him on her tongue. And as they joined as one, the night faded away. She was not No One. She was not a Nameless Assassin.

She was Arya of House Stark. She was Arry.

And he was Gendry, her stupid bull-headed boy.

He was hers. And she was his.

After all, it had always been her and Gendry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about putting up a 3rd chapter taking place after the BATTLE. what do you guys think?
> 
> for those who have watched 8x03: OTHAJSDBWHILGBW my emotions are trashed 
> 
> for those who have not: WATCH IT
> 
> xx


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